Page 130 of The Fake Out

He stalked toward me. “There you go again. Martyr Mae, swooping in to sacrifice herself for everyone else. I’m a big boy; I can take care of myself. I don’t need your sacrifice. I just need you.”

“I have to do this,” I said quietly. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“It should be hard for you to walk away,” he said, suddenly inches from my face. “Because you know we belong together.”

“Life isn’t a romance novel. As much as I love to read them, they’re fiction. Happy endings don’t really exist. I will not be the reason you don’t get to do all the things you’ve worked hard for. I will not be the reason your sister’s life gets turned upside down.”

He took a step back, his eyes going sad. “You know what the real problem is. You’re scared. I understand, I do. But I am not your father, and I am not Peter.”

I rubbed my forehead, at the headache that was building, and avoided looking in his eyes. “I’m being realistic. I’m not scared.”

Terrified. Confused. Defeated. All of those things.

Chris’s head dropped. He rubbed the back of his neck. After a long moment, I saw his chest expand as he drew in a deep breath.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered, more to himself than me. He cupped my cheeks, turning my face so he could see my eyes. “I’ve done all I can do, said all I can say. I don’t know how else I can convince you. I’m not giving up on you. I just think you need time to get your head figured out. When you do, day or night, whenever, you let me know. I’ll be waiting.”

I sniffled. “What if I never get there?”

His expression turned fierce. “You will. I have faith in you, in us.” He touched his forehead to mine. “It’s going to break my heart to walk away right now.”

“I’m sorry. It’s for the best,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as I was convincing him.

He stared, his eyes roaming my face like he was memorizing it. He pressed a lingering kiss to my temple. “It’s the best for who?”

But he didn’t wait around for me to answer. He was just gone.

Which was also probably for the best, too.

FIFTY-EIGHT

If you were a vegetable,

you’d be a cute-cumber.

—JULIA B.

A numbness spread across my chest as I walked back into the house. Mama, Sue, and Iris were all sitting on the couch, eyes fixed on me with concern. Iris moved over and patted the empty space. I sat, all four of us squished in, no one quite sure what to say.

A sob escaped me. Then another. And instead of asking their questions, they wrapped their arms around me and let me cry.

Afterward, when I’d calmed down enough to speak, I told them everything. All of it. The medical bills. My job at Chicky’s. The deal I’d made with Chris. Dad’s threats. The text message I had just received. I even told them about Ellie after swearing them to secrecy.

When I finished, it was clear I’d stunned them all into silence. Even Iris.

I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

Mama narrowed her eyes. “Iris, go to my bedroom closet. On the top shelf, under the electric blanket, is a manila envelope. Bring it here.” Iris heard the steel in her voice and scurried to do as asked.

“That man is something else,” Sue muttered, looking as angry as Mama.

“Your father…” Mama growled and took a visible breath. “Get him on the phone and tell him you want to meet with him. Tonight.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” The thought of facing him made me equal parts exhausted and disgusted. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and lick my wounds.

Before she could reply, Iris returned with a thick, oversized envelope and handed it over to Mama.

“Oh, it’s a fantastic idea.” Mama tossed the envelope on the coffee table. It landed with a dull thud.